The dirty job no one else wanted
The good ol’ part-time days.
Early in this crazy produce game, I started as a part-time clerk. I worked the late shifts after school, as well as the weekends and holidays. I was always hungry for extra hours. The less-than-desirable shifts provided these.
Every Wednesday the closing shift was responsible for staying late and cleaning the refrigerated case — the wet rack. Other part-timers joined bowling leagues so they’d have an excuse to get out of working on Wednesday nights, even if they didn’t bowl. Cleaning the rack was the dirty produce job.
Being available on Wednesday nights doomed me to the cleaning chore, but it also provided a full eight-hour shift. I could often justify squeezing out an extra hour of overtime by doing so. Ka-ching!
While everyone shunned the wet and messy job, I thrived on it. After a person executes a task week after week for months or years on end, they develop a system. It’s finding a groove, knowing what to expect, and how to streamline everything so that wet rack cleaning wasn’t as punishing as everyone thought.
Closing a produce department provides its own kind of tranquility anyway. Working a swing 4 p.m. to 12:30 a.m. cleaning shift begins with the evening rush. It was especially busy early on, and my late help usually baled on me around 7 p.m. The evening crowd thinned out by then, however, and we had the dry tables rotated and well stocked.
After that it was a matter of maintaining stock conditions, trimming a fresh load of product for the morning setup shift and letting the wet rack sell down — all the while straightening the vegetables on the rack now and then, keeping enough on display for any late shoppers.
The store closed at 10 p.m. By then I had everything prepped for the rack cleaning. Stacks of plastic tubs on casters stood at the ready. Everything else needed was staged as well: brooms, mops, mirror cleaner, hoses, U-boats and extra empty boxes to pull the vegetables. We also used a few empty shopping carts to pull bulky items into, such as packaged carrots, celery, cabbage or jar dressings nestled in wire racks. Then we waited for closing time at 10.
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The moment the front doors were locked, I sprang into action like Secretariat lunging from the starting gate. Stripping the rack was the fast part, the easy part. Like most guys accomplished in this routine, I managed to pull the long wet rack bare of product in less than 15 minutes, taking another 15 or so to pull everything into the walk-in cooler.
I wore a plastic apron to help deflect the water, but it made little difference. I still ended up looking like Mark Spitz (Michael Phelps to the younger readers).
The next step was cleaning the case liner and draping it over some carts to dry. Then I’d pull off the heavy metal racking one by one with a vengeance. By this time, the grocery night crew had arrived, busy stocking shelves and accompanied by a different kind of heavy metal. “Night crew music,” we called it, playing over the intercom — album cuts, like Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon.” Muscles started to ache by this time, but I had found my rhythm.
With hoses hooked up, I cleaned the case. Even after scrubbing the bowels of the wet rack every week, it amazed me how much slime and mud accumulated. I moved along, section by section, until it was clean as it could be. “We’re getting prime California topsoil here, one case at a time,” I used to think. Then I carefully replaced the racking, testing each one for sturdiness, followed by placing the newly cleaned case liner on top of the racking.
I finished with a thorough mirror cleaning and chrome rail polishing. By the time I wrapped up and put everything away, Jethro Tull’s “Bungle in the Jungle” was playing. I swept and mopped the floors before punching the time clock. With a little luck and minimal snags, I’d head out around 1 a.m. — soaking wet, but still riding the adrenaline rush.
I straddled my ’69 Honda 175cc motorcycle, kick-started the engine, stretched and wondered if Taco Bell might still be open, where I hoped to meet up with my other produce night-owl pals.
Armand Lobato works for the Idaho Potato Commission. His 40 years of experience in the produce business span a range of foodservice and retail positions.
